Of Birthday Gifts and Love
by Howard Roark
Summary: On the night before Harry's 17th birthday, Ginny and Hermione have a brief heart-to-heart. Ginny decides what she wants to give Harry for his birthday...


"So tomorrow's his birthday. He'll be of age, and you three will be free to go." I didn't bother disguising the flat disappointment in my voice. Hermione knew I was upset. I rolled over to look across the room at her. She sat cross-legged on the pull-out cot, brushing her hair. Hermione "I-can't-ride-a-broomstick" Granger—Harry apparently thought that she was brave enough to go… wherever they were going. Meanwhile, he thought I was a little girl who didn't deserve to even _know _where he was going. Admittedly, I was being a bit of a brat about it. At least in my head, I was. Ron, Hermione and Harry would inevitably leave. Even Mum had started to come to grips with it, and frankly, if the alternative was Harry traveling alone, I would much rather he have his best mates. Still, an insecure voice had nagged me all summer: "_he thinks you're weak, Ginny. He wants you safe at Hogwarts with the likes of Colin Creevey while he's out dueling You-Know-Who." _

"I don't think he could bear for you to be in danger." Hermione said softly. It was the wrong thing to say. She realized it, too, probably after I stared daggers at her for a straight minute. "I'm just saying," she persisted, "he needs someone to come back to. And he's protective of you. Part of him still sees you as his little sister." She shrugged, now deftly plaiting her thick hair.

"Incest. Gross." I said, laughing.

"Gross," she agreed. "Well, maybe he sees you more as Ron's little sister. In any case, he's not taking you with him." _Thanks, Hermione._

"Where do you think you'll go?" I asked for the twelfth time that week. Hermione was looking over her packing list, adding item names with prods of her wand.

"Harry told us that he wants to see Godric's Hollow," she said absentmindedly, "but I still don't have the foggiest idea where we'll need to go."

"You should go to Godric's Hollow," I said, indignant. "He obviously wants to see his parents." _His parents' graves._

"Yes," she conceded weakly, "but Voldemort will probably have gathered as much, you see?"

To that I had no reply, so I tossed around a bit in bed, irritated with Hermione. Perhaps I should have realized that. Would Harry have considered taking me with him had I not been so naïve?

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice was hesitant.

"Hmm?"

"Does Ron ever… talk about me?" I had not been expecting _that_ question. In a flurry of cruelty, I decided to toy with her.

"Sure," I said. "He never shuts up about you and Harry. You're his best mates." A short, pained breath was all I heard from her. Then she composed herself.

"No. I mean, does he ever talk about me in a… different way? A more…well… you know?" Hearing her struggle for words was so unusual that I regretted my words immediately. Turning around, I sat up on the bed so we were eye-level.

"Hermione. You and Ron may have been tiptoeing around it since you were third years, but everyone at school—even Filch—knows that you two are going to get married someday."

"Oh, sod off Ginny," she muttered, upset. She thought I was _kidding. _

"I'm serious!_" _I exclaimed, incredulous. "How can you not see it? Well, I suppose it _is _Ron, but still, don't you see the way he looks at you like you're a large slice of treacle fudge?" I groaned. "It's so painfully obvious. I'm often quite disgusted to see my brother in such a state." I shook my head, laughing.

"I'm hardly amused," Hermione replied icily. I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever," I said, "you two will be together for months, camping out God-knows-where. If something doesn't happen, you two may as well be monks."

"Droll, Ginny."

"So I've been told." I uncrossed my legs and lay back down, sobered at the thought of the three of them leaving. "When do you think you'll go?" I asked, seized with panic at the thought that they _could _leave as soon as tomorrow.

"Harry is pushing for as soon as possible, but of course not till after the wedding." Hermione was being no help.

"I want to say goodbye to him." The pained words left my mouth before I realized that that was what I wanted to do. But I _did _want a goodbye with Harry. I wanted to remind him I existed—that I still loved him more than was healthy. And I felt like it would be the proper time to cry. Saying "goodbye"would be an appropriately gut wrenching occasion. No chance of appearing a weak little girl if I cried _then. _

Hermione patted my arm sympathetically. "Do it tomorrow." She said.

I winced at the thought of such a sudden departure, but I continued picturing the goodbye scene. I decided that I would not cry. I felt pathetic for even imagining it. No, Harry and I would be too busy for tears. There would be crackling fire on my skin and his arms around my waist and my hands in his hair and my lips on his.

Smirking slightly, I tossed in bed one last time. I knew what Harry was getting for his birthday. Little girl be damned.


End file.
